


Every world in every way

by Ediblecrayon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Coffee Shops, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 07:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13142118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ediblecrayon/pseuds/Ediblecrayon
Summary: Bucky wasn't mad. Really, he wasn't.





	Every world in every way

**Author's Note:**

> For [falcon-hill](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/falcon-hill) my lovely secret Santa!
> 
> I borrowed the name of Soul Brew from a local coffee shop, so all credit goes to them.

Bucky wasn't mad. Really, he wasn't. It wasn't Steve's fault that these mishaps sometimes happened; Steve was, after all, a Creator, and while his primary medium was art, sometimes he just couldn't help it when the picture he painted in his head decided to slither out. 

So, Bucky wasn't mad, not at all. He was simply… _frustrated._

“A fucking manticore, really, Steve?”

Steve ran a hand through his tousled blond hair, looking adorably flustered. The manticore in question was currently winding itself around his legs like a giant house cat, purring like a motorboat. Despite its size and dangerous nature, so far it had proven to have the temperament of a kitten.

“Buck, I'm so sorry,” Steve babbled, face red and hands flailing. “I just got this idea in my head and I didn't have any materials on me so I started kind of just--sketching in the air with my fingers? And then when I got home it was just _here.”_

Bucky absolutely did not facepalm. “But a _manticore_?”

“I had this great idea for a nature scene, and I wanted her to be at the foreground so she's the first thing I started out with!”

“ _She?_ ”

The manticore licked a rust colored paw, eyeing Bucky with disinterest. Her spine tail twitched back and forth when Steve absently scratched behind her ears. “Her name’s Kahlo,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears pinkening. 

Bucky tossed in hands in the air. “Of course you would name a man-eating hybrid beast after a famous painter.” He scrubbed both hands down his face. “Where exactly are we supposed to keep her, Steve? We can’t keep her in the apartment, and I am not scaring away my customers by having her roam around downstairs.”

“The back halls,” Steve blurted out immediately. “She doesn’t need a gateway, so she can traverse realms and through the rifts whenever she likes. She’s not likely to run into anyone but the Nomads, anyway. Plus, Natasha would love her.”

“Christ, you’re right. I hate all of you.” Bucky sighed heavily into his hands, then raised his head with a look of resignation. “Fine. But _you’re_ responsible for feeding her.”

Steve gave him a mock salute. “Aye aye, sir.

What a little shit.

“Look, I have to go open up the storefront, and then I have to prep the gateway. Speaking of Nat, she feels like she’s on her way.” Bucky wasn’t exactly high ranking in the gifted department, but he had a sixth sense that rivaled even the strongest seer. And that was before the whole curse thing.

When they were kids, Bucky had been cursed by a bloodstone from the black cult, Hydra. The stone had embedded itself into his left arm, spilling its poisonous magic into his body. They had managed to negate the bloodstone--it sat embedded in Bucky’s shoulder, cracked and terrifying and beautiful-- but the dark magic has cost Bucky his left arm. Two of their friends, T’Challa and Tony--both Creators themselves, T’Challa of science, Tony of machines and technology--had managed to rebuild what was left with vibranium and gold alloy. They had done a stunning job, and Bucky absolutely loved it.

After the whole incident with Hydra, Bucky had felt an immeasurable amount of guilt for the damage--minor, as Steve would frequently remind him--and within the next few days had volunteered to become the next gatekeeper once he came of age. Gatekeepers surveyed whoever crossed through their realm; there were a nine realms altogether, but an infinite number of timelines and universes. It was a great honor; the only issue was that the gatekeeper was bound to their gateway, and as such wasn’t able to travel far from it. Luckily, Brooklyn’s gateway was located in the depths of Soul Brew, the local coffee and book shop that Bucky managed as well. There wasn’t exactly a shortage of visitors between their friends, family, and the Nomads that traversed the realms, so it was, Bucky had to admit, actually a pretty sweet gig. Not to mentioned that once he became Gatekeeper, Steve has immediately declared himself Bucky’s roommate, (“End of the line, remember? Where you go, I go.”) and the two of them lived comfortably in the upstairs apartment. 

“I’ll come with you,” Steve offered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I have some commissions to work on anyway, the Jamesons want a five panel replication of their wedding day for their twenty-fifth anniversary.”

Bucky grabbed his keys. “All right, let’s drop the princess off in the back, and then we can head downstairs.

* * *

“I hear you have yourself a new pet,” Natasha greeted as she stepped through Brooklyn’s Gateway. “Interesting choice, by the way.”

Bucky groaned, sealing the portal behind her. “How would you even know that? You literally just got here.”

“Thor,” Natasha said matter of factly. “Apparently when Steve sent her off she headed over to Asgard. Thor adores her. Says she’s a fine beast for such a finely matched pair,” she added smugly. Her expression softened a fraction. “You really would do anything for that boy, wouldn’t you?”

“Course I would,” Bucky said evasively, as they weaved through the maze of hallways that led to the shopfront. “He’s my best friend.”

“Who you happen to be madly in love with.” Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “Has it ever occurred to you that he may feel the same way?”

Bucky stiffened. “Not an option. Steve’s only ever been in love with one person and it ain’t me.”

Peggy Carter had been a Nomad of a different time from a different Brooklyn, a sharp-tongued woman stuck in a war between men. She and Steve had hit it off instantly, and he had been utterly heartbroken when she had to return to her own time. Last Bucky checked on her, she had made it to the ripe old age of eighty-seven; partner, two kids, a gaggle of grandbabies. She had lived a long, happy life, but it was obvious she has never forgotten about Steve. She had named her eldest Steven Grant, and Bucky both loved and hated her for it.

“There are different kinds of love,” Natasha admonished, surprisingly gentle. “Of course Steve loved her, was in love with her, and she loved him. He could have left, become a Nomad and followed her.” She slid her eyes towards Bucky. “Now tell me, James, I wonder why it was he chose to stay here?”

“Because he feels like owes it to me.” He spat the words like acid, fists clenching. Of course Steve felt guilty; he still blamed himself for Hydra’s curse, even after all these years. That was one of the main reasons why he took it upon himself to be Bucky’s personal guard dog and babysitter. It was love, yes, but a misguided love, and not the kind Bucky wanted.

Not like how he loved Steve.

There had been a time, ages ago, when he had actually thought he might have a chance. Steve had been bitching and whining about having two left feet, and so Bucky had offered to teach him to dance. Steve had flashed him a thousand watt smile, brighter than the sun, and said “That’s great, Buck! Can’t let Pegs show me up now, can I?”

And that little wisp of hope had snuffed out like a candle. 

They finally reached a heavy oak door. Bucky slid his key into the lock and murmured softly, and the door eased itself open in response, revealing the spiral staircase that led down to Soul Brew. 

Once they reached ground level, Natasha took off towards the coffee bar, while Bucky glanced around for a different target. The shop was as busy as always, but he was able to spot Steve’s hipster glasses and muscular physique a mile away. Hell, everyone could have been painted grey and Steve still would have stuck out to him like a suit at a pride parade. 

He was seated on one of the plush chairs, tongue between his teeth as the outline of a wedding came to life before him. His glasses were slipping down his nose and he has smudges of ink on his cheek, fingertips, and t-shirt. One shirt sleeve was rolled up, showing off a colorful array of tattoos, the knees of his jeans were ripped, and he was wearing mismatching socks. He was an utter disaster.

And still the love of Bucky’s life.

He swallowed hard, tamping down on the swell of emotion that squeezed his chest. It was no use pining for something, _someone_ he would never, could never have. Steve deserved better, certainly better than the life Bucky could provide. A cramped apartment, The Gateway, a cluttered hipster joint that couldn’t decide if it was a book or coffee shop.

Then Steve happened to glance his way and turned on that beautiful smile, as though it was all for him, and it was too much. Quickly, Bucky headed over to the counter, ducking his head on on the pretense of drawing his hair into a messy bun.

It was time to get to work.

* * *

All in all, the day went rather well. Thor came thundering through The Gateway sometime around noon after Natasha had continued on her way, bringing with him a barrel of Asgardian mead and some sort of pheasant for Kahlo. Business was booming and the day’s customers were actually decent. Between the coffee and book sales, profits weren’t looking too bad either.

So of course, it was that evening that things went to hell in a handbasket. 

It’s was Bucky’s fault, really; him and his traitorous heart. He had stopped by to drop Steve off a mocha during a commission break and had found him drawing a woman in with brunette hair,, painted red lips the perfect match to her stunning dress. 

So of course when Steve turned that big, stupid smile on him, Bucky had shoved his coffee at him and ran. Which led to Worried!Steve, which led to Pissy!Bucky. Which of course ultimately led a shouting match about Bucky carrying too much weight on his shoulders and Steve helicoptering like a mother hen.

Which is how Bucky found himself on Natasha’s sofa, tea in hand and cat spread out across his thighs, Natasha herself sat in the window seat.

“You need to tell him.”

Bucky stared miserably into his tea. “No, I don’t.”

“Pray tell, why not?”

“Because he doesn’t love me, Nat!” Bucky knuckled at his left eye. “He loves Peggy, and whether he ever sees her again or not doesn’t matter, I’m not going to take that away from him.”

Natasha hummed, turning from the window and crossing her legs together when Liho jumped into the crook of them. “And what makes you think he doesn’t feel the same way?” she asked cryptically, tilting her head to one side. “He loved Peggy, yes, but not in the way he loves you.” She poised a finger when Bucky made to interject. “He chose to live here, helping you guard the gateway, when he could have done anything else. It’s not because he feels guilty, James, it’s because he can’t bear to be apart from you. You’re tied to the Brooklyn gateway, and though you can cross through others, your travel range is otherwise pretty limited save for those and The Underground.

The Underground was a seedy, dark netherrealm located beneath the Brooklyn gateway. It extended throughout the other eight realms, and served as a black market of sorts, as well as a place of dark magic. So, naturally, that meant Natasha had a hideout here.

Bucky glared into his tea miserably. “How am I supposed to do this, Nat? What if I lose him?”

Natasha’s green eyes glimmered knowingly as she scratched Liho’s head. “You won’t. Stop worrying, James. Everything will fall into place.”

“So you say.” Bucky took a swig of his tea and promptly gagged. “Christ, how much vodka did you put in this?”

* * *

When Bucky opened Soul Brew the following morning, Steve was noticeably absent. His door has been closed when Bucky returned the night before, as well as that morning; perhaps Steve had spent the night elsewhere? The thought made Bucky’s stomach plummet. 

He kept an eye out for broad shoulder and paint-stained blond hair as he worked, there was no sign of Steve, and none of their friends had seen him either. By the end of the day Bucky’s chest felt like it had been stepped on and his stomach filled with lead. Dejected and resigned to another stressful night, Bucky closed up the shop and headed upstairs towards the empty apartment.

It was quiet and dim as he walked through the door. The faerie lights were lit, illuminating Kahlo lounging on the fluffy cushion Steve had wrangled up for her; but as Bucky stepped further into the foyer he realized several inked fireflies were fluttering about the strands as well. The place was just as cluttered as usual, and nothing seemed out of place, but the crisp breeze flowing through from the balcony indicated otherwise.

Buck kicked off his shoes, then padded across the living room, cautiously stepping over the sliding frame and onto the cool concrete. Steve was seated on the ground against the barrier, expression inscrutable. Two figures, unmistakably male--one broad with thick glasses, the other with shaggy hair and a metal arm--danced at his fingertips in a perfect waltz. Bucky watched, mesmerized, before Steve spoke.

“I never did get that dance from you. Figured this was better than nothing.”

Whatever melody the figures waltzed to must have ended, because they broke from position, hands still linked, before embracing one another. Bucky’s throat tightened as it dawned on him; Steve always been better at expressing himself with his art rather than words. And this?

This was a promise and a love confession, poured from the depths of Steve’s heart into strokes and wisps of ink. 

Steve closed his hand and the figures vanished, pulling Bucky from his stupor. He cleared his throat, shuffling his socked feet. “Well,” he announced, with a bravado he certainly didn’t feel, “Let’s go, punk.”

Steve blinked stupidly. “What?”

Bucky swept some stray strands back into his bun. “What do you mean “what”? I owe you a dance.”

Steve flushed, eyes downcast. “Buck, I want you to know I don’t expect anything. I just couldn’t--”

“Shut up, Steve.”

“Buck--”

“I said shut up.” Bucky reached down and tugged Steve to his feet, pulling him in so they were chest to chest. He then slid his arms loosely around Steve’s neck; Steve’s hands fluttered in the air for a moment before coming to settle on Bucky’s waist. “Now since you’re not a bean pole anymore, there’s no music, and we both know you can’t waltz for shit, we’re going to improvise.”

Steve smiled, soft and crooked. “Okay.”

They both swayed to the melody of the wind whistling through the trees, the clatter and bustle of what few people were still out in the city this time at night.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Stevie?” Bucky murmured, tipping forward so that their foreheads touched. “You had to know, pal, there’s never been anyone but you.”

Steve’s eyes slid shut, and a hand came up to cup Bucky’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “And you were so hung up on me and Pegs, I didn’t think you’d give us a chance.” He opened his eyes again, exhaling slowly. “I loved Peggy, Buck, but it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t you. I loved you first, and you’d best damn believe you’re going to be the last. In this universe; in this realm, and the next, and all the others beyond that.”

Bucky buried his face in Steve’s neck, preening a little when Steve dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Same goes for you, pal.”

When he pulled back, Steve’s smile was blinding. “We did promise each other. End of the line, and all that.”

Bucky gently nosed against Steve’s cheek, before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Shit. What was I thinking.”

Steve flicked his ear, causing him to yelp. “You weren’t. Just like always.” He grinned, raised Bucky’s vibranium arm to plant a kiss on each knuckle. “And now you’re stuck with me.”

Bucky gnawed at his lip, heart bursting.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come stalk me on [Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/edible-crayon)


End file.
